After the Lucifractor
by halfof2
Summary: Sarah, Ethan and Benny find themselves alive and well after the activation of the Lucifractor. The power of the Lucifractor has opened a parallel universe. Here we meet Sarah's parents and her sister, Nokomis. Ethan's parallel self is not quite the one we remember - not that it matters. Ethan and Sarah are destined to be together.
1. Bullet

1. Bullet

~Sarah~

The room smells of salt and pennies. The scent hangs in the air so heavy, that Sarah can imagine the odor as it etches itself onto every inch of Dr. Morgan's office. The molecules float like phantoms – fusing with fibers, and papers and wood as they take up permanent residence. They cling to the air, and invade her lungs, refusing to loosen their grip. The smell is unbearable, and refuses to fade. Her stomach growls in response. Her mouth begins to water.

_I'm a monster._

_I'm an animal._

Sarah watches the carpet as it pools with his blood. The spot spreads beneath him, as his veins pulse slowly beneath his skin. Her teacher, as he lays sprawled on the floor, is losing too much blood, too fast.

He's going to die.

He's going to die because someone decided that today was a good day to nut up.

"Dr. Morgan?" Sarah speaks just loud enough to hope for a response. The sound of her voice is wrong in the silent room. Panic crawls like a current down her limbs as she waits for him to respond. His eyes blink. It is a small, slow movement; proof that he is weak.

"Who's there? I heard the window break…." The professor stops short, unable to finish. He speaks as if the words are being pressed from of his chest.

"Mr. Morgan, someone shot you…." Tears mount to blur Sarah's vision. She sits huddled in a corner-not sure if her tears are for the dying man, or for herself.

She believes that she can save him.

Sarah unfolds from the corner and crawls on all fours to the border of the blood. She moves in trepidation; intent on saving him, but in doubt of her own restraint. The undulating wail of sirens break the void of the office.

_Campus Police._

She freezes in mid crawl, heart hammering inside her chest. There is no time left.

"I can help you. Will you let me help you?" It comes out as a plea. His breathing is ragged, as the penny smell had reinforces itself. He is afraid. He knows he is dying.

Sarah refuses to wait for permission. She ventures into the blood. The puddle seeps around her knees and the heels of her hands as she crawls to his side. She turns his head away pushes his collar down. Anxiety winds Sarah's stomach into a knot.

"Do you want to live? I can help you, but it has to be now." The words form in hushed rush. The girl is right next to his ear. Her hammering heart has made its way into her throat. She wonders how lucid the teacher might still be. He takes a longer, deeper breath. He blinks again, and his Adam's apple lifts as he swallows. His eyes empty of recognition, as he flows towards unconsciousness. A storm of officers rush the building – loud with purpose, running. It has to be now, before I she is forced to escape. He finally answers. His voice is low but inimitable.

"Yes".

He answers as his eyes roll shut. He hasn't thought long about it; he isn't ready to die.

The pretty girl leans in closer, and then, without ceremony, bites him.


	2. Escape

2. Escape

~Sarah~

I free the frame of glass and jump from the window, feeling weak and light headed - which doesn't make sense. I am also nervous. I need to get home – or at least away from here. My vision swims as dark spots grow and writhe obscuring my vision. Why would my body threaten to give out if I just consumed blood?

My parents have never gone out of their way to explain the dynamics of what I am – we seem to get along just fine without discussing it. I drink blood to survive. I would say that I am a vampire – but that doesn't explain why I eat (and seem to need for that matter) food. In my mind, I like to believe that I have things figured out – unless I have things figured out wrong. I do what seems natural to the situations I find myself in. Today however, has been the pinnacle of my experiences. Up until now I have survived quite well on a partial diet of organ meats and blood procured by my mother. I've never felt the need to bite anyone before today. In my own defense, I've never been around pooling human blood either. I don't know how to process what just happened. I don't want to think about it right now; I need to get home.

I still feel as if I am starving when I hit the dirt below the window. My heels sink into the earth. I want more blood, but I know I that won't do anything about it. My body betrays me. The contradictory symptoms have raised an alarm in my head. I need to get home. I start towards the trees - I think its best not to glide, but to walk home as fast as I can. I will break into a run if I start to feel more like myself.

_If I_ ever begin to feel more like myself.

Now I feel compelled to go towards the highway – and as if to confuse myself further- my feet start their trip in the opposite direction. I am not in the mood for tug of war. My shoes are not the best type for long distance walking, and are likely to land me in a leg cast if I am not careful. I'm not prone to accidents. On the contrary - I am very well coordinated, but at this moment I don't trust my body. The highway isn't where I want to be. I turn to go home again. At least I am finally walking in a straight line. For the moment it seems that my brain has gave up on taking my body for a cruise down the highway. I am still walking towards home. This is good; I am making progress.

For what I am sure are dozens of steps, I make a steady trek towards home. I try to push the thought of curious passers- by out of my head. I am a mess. My hair is tossed and rumpled. I am sure that I have dirt on my face; possibly blood. I have already seen the blood on my hands. I avoid the instinct to inspect my clothes. I need to stay calm. It is dark outside, and I hope that I won't come across any Good Samaritan types. Hopefully no one will notice me at all.

_If I can avoid being seen, I can make it home. Then I can find out what's wrong with me. Mom will know what to do. _I focus at the ground as I walk. I have to concentrate on something. I will only manage to look wild and uneasy if I raise my head. I am almost to the exit, which lets off onto a cross street. It is safe to come this way. The police are all in the opposite direction; inspecting the main cluster of buildings. I listen into the wooded areas of the campus, as they become covered ground behind me. Following, soft and determined, I hear footsteps. Over the grass, the footsteps pick up speed. In spite of knowing who is coming towards me, my stomach still drops.

I feel every air current as it stirs around me. The breeze brings a familiar chain of scents. Musk and citrus – white grapefruit - are the strongest. The smell of my sisters' hair, as it presents itself on her pillow cases. Without needing to turn and look behind me, I knew that my sister is reaching out for my shoulder. I can feel the heat radiating from her palm as it comes toward my jacket. She has caught up with me.

"I saw you back there." Nokomis is at my side now, turning in front of me. "What was that? Are you ok? You'll never get home walking in ellipses."

"So you sat and watched me? _Really_?" I exhale. Hot, maddened air escapes my lungs. It's dry and it hurts.

"Sarah, you're grouchy. You're tired. Mom and Dad want to assemble a search party. Let's just go, okay?

I feel my posture relaxing. It's good to have a personal rescue party-it's a relief to look at Nokomis. My shoulders round with fatigue. I rub my burning eyes, smearing kohl down onto my cheeks. I stretch my arms out towards Nokomis, hands dangling at my wrists.

"Carry me. I'm not going to make it walking."

"C'mon. Hop up, sack style." Nokomis stoops low, and I drape my narrow body over her shoulder. Nokomis finds her balance, getting to know my weight on her shoulder. She takes in a deep breath and starts walking.

"I'll tell people that you're drunk if they ask." Nokomis laughs. I don't always understand my sister's sense of humor. I am too tired to be irritated, and decide to argue with her about her tacky comment later. I am courting a light sleep and comfortable. Dozing takes over as sensory deprivation hijacks my hearing. I don't have to worry about trying to support any of my own weight. Nokomis is strong enough to get me home. I lift my head just long enough to say 'whatever', and fold back over.

Abruptly, Nokomis stoops back down.

"Get down, Sarah. Dad's here." My still burning eyes force open. I stand up from my sister's shoulder to see my father's pearl red SUV pull up alongside of us. I heard the locks click open. My father is shaking his head in clear disapproval. He hits the hazard lights as he steps out of the truck.

Without any effort, my father lifts me into the back seat, and motions for Nokomis to sit up front. I am finally going home.


	3. Just a Girl

~SARAH~

My father, Steppen, said that he was sure that the paramedics would find Dr. Morgan easily. Dad had driven up as far as he could go to have a look at what was going on. He saw the secretary; she had managed to get out. The first thing she probably did was escape to her car with her purse - she always kept it down by her feet. The shooters had been on the north side of the Social Sciences building. She had little chance of running into them. She was parked along the perimeter in Main Parking, south of Administration. She probably called for help like many of the others trapped in the classrooms. The paramedics had taken him out not long after I had freed the window of glass and jumped down. Nokomis had seen most of this from her hiding place - she saw me jumping down from the office window and followed.

There was no doubt that the ER staff would notice he was in good shape for someone who had lost so much blood. Did I have something to do with that? I hoped not.

I lay down on the couch too tired to talk. Way too tired to do anything, really. I listened to our father and Nokomis as they told Mom about what had happened. Her eyes were narrowed in thought as she listened. She had taken a light quilt from the linen closet and spread it over me. Clearly, there were some details of the evening that she couldn't work out.

"Sarah – I still don't understand. Why would you choose to stay when you knew someone was running around with a gun? Why didn't you come directly home?

I'd had a feeling that all of her thinking would come down to this: What in the world could be so important in the Social Sciences office? I didn't believe that she was really concerned about the chance that I could have been shot. What was going to happen if I had been? Would the bullet bounce off? I highly doubted that a gun would have done any real damage to me. She wasn't going to ask me what was in that building that had me obsessing, even though she knew that I spent a lot of time there. Now she was trying to figure out – without speaking in front of Steppen – what the shooting, and the Social Sciences building had to do with me. Sneaky, sneaky Mom.

I looked at Nokomis. I shrugged my shoulders. Nokomis just blinked and bit her lip. Her silence meant that she had decided to let me dig myself out. Why did Mom need to ask these questions when I was exhausted?

I scooted a little lower into the couch, so that the quilt would cover my shoulders more. I cleared my throat - I would try to speak - with no guarantees on how long.

"I was coming home - _trying _to come home. I was afraid…I just wanted to get home. At first I felt weak - I was having head swims. I kept seeing black spots."

I sighed, and then continued.

"I was coming home, but I wanted to turn and go to the highway - if that makes any sense….so I was walking in circles. I couldn't help it. It was like I was having a fight with myself about which way to go."

My father leaned back in the armchair and crossed his legs. He hadn't moved from that spot since we came home. He had been very quiet. Night was falling over our neighborhood. The room was dark now except for the glow of the TV. Anise had turned it down earlier so she could hear from the kitchen. She'd been making sandwiches during the interrogation. It had been so quiet the last few minutes that she could probably hear my brain cells overheating. I couldn't tell her what she wanted to know right now. I wasn't ready for Mom or Dads reaction.

Steppen stretched his legs and arms. He grunted and growled as he relieved his muscles. He was too big for the chair he was in. He rolled his head from one shoulder over to the next.

"You girls can't run around like that. People would have seen you carrying her -some wouldn't have thought twice. Other people would have thought it was strange that a teen age girl was carrying another girl as big as herself down the street. Some might have been curious enough to stop and ask questions. You guys should have known that I was going to show up – I always do."

Nokomis exhaled as if she were bored and nodded. I balled up tighter and only managed to look tired. Steppen got up from his chair and made his way towards the kitchen. As Mom stepped into the living room, he grabbed her hand and let it fall gently as he passed by.

"She should sleep now." My mom wiped her hands on a dish cloth. "We can't find out what happened if she's worn out." Her eyes paused at me on the couch, with Nokomis parked in the open space that my curled up body left.

"We'll talk later. I won't forget." Mom looked at us with raised eyebrows. She spoke with a matter-of-fact, _you're not fooling me little girl _tone. This was a conversation that she had no intention of letting go.

My father came back in the living room, picked up the remote control and turned up the television. He reclaimed his chair and started in on the food he'd taken from the kitchen. Nokomis flapped her hand around in my peripheral vision to signal me.

Nokomis had an _omigod _look pointed in my direction. I understood her alarm, but I couldn't worry me. What was important was that I was off the hook – for now anyway.

~ Dr. Ethan Morgan, PhD ~

It's been a couple of days since the shooting. My hospital room is always occupied with at least one of my four adult children. They're worried, and the idea of early retirement has been brought up. I feel guilt pretending to consider it, although I have no intention of retiring. Life has to go on. I can't wrap myself in bubble packaging and wait to turn sixty-five – no matter how enthusiastic they might grow at that suggestion.

The doctors in the emergency room insisted that a person in my situation should need a blood transfusion. They couldn't see a reason to give me one. They surmised that the stain as described by the paramedics had to look worse than it actually was.

Indeed.

I didn't argue, because I couldn't explain what had gone on. It had occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't attempt to figure it out. I was alive, and that was all that mattered; except that I stubbornly _wanted_ to know what happened. As every fiber of good sense that I had strained against me thinking about it too much, my curiosity was slowly winning. Too bad they don't give out doctorates in morbid curiosity.

I was recovering faster than expected. The nurse had brought in my breakfast and what I considered to be good news: I was going to be sent home, if not this afternoon, then tomorrow for sure. The attending physician could see no reason to keep me.

This was no surprise to me. My leg was bound, and I had been asked to keep it elevated. I was certain that I would be encouraged to use a cane as I came further along. I felt good; I had already been using a walker to hobble around my room. I didn't call for assistance for any reason. I went to the restroom, showered, and even took short walks around the halls. At some point during my hospital stay, all of my kids – and grandchildren – had caught me up and about.

Their reaction: shock, awe, and then horror - in that order.

I shouldn't be doing as well as I am. I'm fifty-three years old.

I lost blood, and I had laid there long enough to have been found dead, if not close to it. No one that had observed me wanted to do the mental gymnastics to figure out why my family was taking me home, rather than planning a funeral.

The shooting its-self was surreal. I lay in the dark, waiting to take my last breaths; waiting to die. One minute I was on my way out of the office going home; the next glass was flying past my head and my leg was going out from under me. I found myself down on the floor, alone. Pearl, the secretary had run away, screaming for help at the top of her lungs as soon as she saw me sprawled on the floor. I remember opening my eyes to Sarah in the far corner. I could just make out her body folded up in the corner by the bookcase, with her knees to her chest, her chin needled between her knees.

I was dying: she knew it and I knew it. I could tell that my blood horrified her, but there was something _else_. She was compelled to come closer. I still don't understand what made her so brave. I saw the blackness, my vision failing – and somehow she_ knew_. I remember passing out, and waking up in the hospital with sore, cramping neck muscles. My entire neck and shoulder tops were on fire. My _spine_ was burning. I couldn't feel my legs. If I would have needed to escape from anything at that moment, I wouldn't have been able to.

I remember needing to run – to escape. I needed to run home and lock the door behind me. I needed to lock out whatever had stunned me, but I couldn't. I was trapped on a gurney and dazed.

I was still alive.


	4. Talking to the Moon

4. Talking to the Moon

~Sarah~

I'm tired of being locked in the house. Anise says it's the best thing for right now, and Steppen agrees. I guess I'll go along with it.

I've been incredibly bored.

Seriously, I've been bored out of my mind.

Everything around here is weird. So weird, that Erica can't even stop by. I've been forced to be a bad friend. I haven't called her. No texting, no emails. My best friend is going to slap me when she finally _does_ see me. I try to watch movies- it works for a little while. Reading helps. I've been trying not to eat too much – I have too many clothes that I still want to fit when house arrest is over.

As if I would ever gain any weight. I've been this height and weight for a while now. I simply stopped growing. Yet another anomaly for Erica to work with. Since answers are lacking around here, Erica has been kind enough to do some researching for me. Hopefully, she has continued on in my absence. I wonder - once the interrogation begins, if I answer moms questions, will she be willing to answer some of mine?

That's something to think about.

Sleeping has become very interesting. I can never remember what I dream about. Suddenly I can remember every dream. I know every detail as if I were standing right there – as if it were reality. The odd thing about all of this is what happens in the dreams.

Nothing happens in these dreams.

The dreams are about normal every day things.

I dream about a big yard, with small yapping dogs – cute – but yapping, still. The grass is perfectly mowed. I see bare feet walking across it. I don't know who these feet belong to, but I see them. This person plays with the dogs, and the doggies never seem to get enough play time.

I see lots of Pepsi. Fizzy black soda in bottles, in glasses, and in cans. I see the drinks sweating on the table tops of the home in my dreams. Sweating on top of a coaster on a desk filled with papers. I usually want one when I wake up. This hasn't let up since my vivid dreams started. This is one of the few interesting thing that fills my days. The days seem longer than they really are.

Being confined to the house has made a wreck of my sleeping schedule. What else is there to do when you have done _everything_?

Nokomis manages to provide some entertainment, even when she isn't trying.

() ()

(o.o)

(_)o

"What's going on at school?" I say to Nokomis as soon as I see her come in. She doesn't answer right away. She dumps her bag in the armchair, and walks down the hall, keys tinkling together.

"What do you mean?"

Only Nokomis would answer my question with a question, when she knew exactly what I was asking her. Her voice was coming back down the hall now. She had taken off her shoes and hung her keys up. I noticed that she had been in my closet. She had on one of my favorite shirts – a short sleeve, v neck, charcoal, tiger-stripy burnout. It has a flounce ruffle trim around the neck, and a ruched front seam down the middle. There is a clever little stretch belt that goes right under her chest.

She sits down.

"Is _Adventure Time_ on? Where's the remote? I am _sooo_ hungry."

_Is she serious? _

Nokomis scans the furniture.

_Yep. She's looking for the remote._

I dig it out of my blanket fortress and hand it to her. One of our cats, Hercules is curled against my side sleeping. He doesn't like the blankets being moved. He stretches and jumps down from the couch.

"Nobody is really talking about it. Nobody died…" Nokomis says, as she distracted by channel surfing. "But…"

"Okay, but what?" I wait for her to finish, already nervous. I do not like her pause. Not one bit.

"I mean, I guess that there wouldn't be much being said. No one's _dead_. Dr. Morgan is back at school. He looks good."

I felt my nervousness subside. Good – Morgan was happy and healthy. I hadn't drained him of body fluids.

"So – what are they saying about him?"

"Nothing. I saw him in the halls – he's on a cane. He looked alarmed when he saw me."

I didn't know what to say to that. I wondered what he had been thinking the past week or so. Whatever it was, it was enough to make him nervous when he saw Nokomis.

"He wanted to talk to me."

"What makes you say that – how do you know?"

"He looked like it, like he was thinking. His eye muscles were tightening.

"Or he was wondering where I've been hiding."

"Maybe. He smelled like metal…metallic.

_Yeah, he was nervous._

"Sarah, what did you do? No – you know what? What have you been doing? How would he even know that I'm your sister? I don't have classes with him. Do you talk to him?

"Yeah, I talk to him. He encourages his students to stop by."

"So you two are buddies…or something?" Nokomis waved her hand around in the air, with a questioning frown on her face. I was sick of her. I didn't do anything wrong.

"Is he up and about because you two are _buddies_?

"Maybe." I said defensively. I folded my arms in front of me.

"O-mi-god!" Nokomis rolled her eyes at me. "Mom is going to flip. Dad is going to kill everybody. Sarah, really – don't you think that Dr. Morgan is freaked out that he is still breathing at all? Don't you think that he is questioning what happened?"

Nokomis gets up and walks into the kitchen. A few seconds later her head pops around the door way.

"Come on!" she snaps impatiently.

I follow my sister into the kitchen, where she has taken a seat at the kitchen island, and I launch into an explanation as if I am on trail.

"I couldn't watch him lay there like that…it just didn't seem right. And, well – his blood. I've never been around that much human blood before. I felt like I was starving. I just wanted a little of it."

I didn't look Nokomis in the face. I just stood there wrapped in my quilt. I wanted to back into the kitchen walls and vanish - dissolve into my surroundings. Maybe the quilt was really a Cloak of Invisibility. If I thought about it hard enough, the powers of the cape would kick in, and I could disappear. I kept talking, filling the need to put a bandage on the description of how I had acted.

"Something happened when I bit him. All I could think about was saving him and keeping him safe. There was a strange taste in my mouth, and it the taste wasn't blood. But he looks good, right? Even though he's using a cane? I wanted to help him. I wouldn't have eaten him. I only took a little."

Nokomis laughed. It was raucous and sudden. It startled me. She had been trying to assemble a sandwich, as she aimed empathetic glances at my face. She simply couldn't hold it in any more. I felt like I had been caught drawing on the wall with markers. Clearly, I had been doing something that I shouldn't have – but I had enjoyed it. I didn't mean any harm – I couldn't help it.

"Sarah, it's okay. He's fine, really, he is. I think a lot of the cane use is for show. He looks refreshed. Some of his gray is missing."

That was interesting. My venom (or whatever it was) had shaved a little bit of 'old' off of him. I wondered how far that went. How much younger could he get?

"Were you worried? You thought you drained him?" Nokomis said this playfully, teasing me with my own guilt.

I sighed and shook my head.

" I was sooo paranoid." I responded. I felt lighter, relieved.

Nokomis poked my chin cleft.

"Boop!" went Nokomis. Did she see a button there? Would the rest of my secrets pop out of my mouth on a slip of paper? She reached down to scrunch my hair into her hand.

"It's dry – you need to bathe and condition your hair - and _do_ stuff. Eww. You are_ so_ dirty, and _so_ stressed out." She wrinkled her nose and poked her lips out.

Sound effects and goofy faces.

I laughed.

I love Nokomis.

() ()

(o.o)

( _ )o

House arrest has brought out my devious side. When everyone is sleeping, and I can't take it anymore, I sneak out onto the roof. The fact is that Anise is afraid to let me out of her sight, much less out on the porch. I wonder what she would do if I ventured out onto the side walk? She would spontaneously combust.

The roof is sanctuary. There's plenty of fresh air and privacy. I also get a good view of other people's homes – the ones that are close enough for me to see. I drag my quilt up and sit, or lie, and stare into the sky. I am comforted by the night - hidden in the wee hours of the morning, alone with my thoughts while everyone is sleeping. I watch the stars twinkle, and I try to guess all of the constellations. Not that I 'm very good at it - on any given night it's just me and the moon – nothing else. I've grown to know it pretty well. I know every crater and maria. I'm drawn to the serenity, and some nights can't wait to get up there. I enjoy napping on the roof, and I usually feel a lot better afterwards. The change of scenery has been good.

The view of the roof isn't limited to nature; I've been doing a little people watching.

I never see the boy across the street unless he is taking out the trash. I think he's a procrastinating night owl. If his -I assume it's his- light isn't on, you can see the television glowing. I've never seen him out during the day except to come in and out from school, or to shoot at his basket ball hoop. I've only ever gotten one good look at him. The high school was giving a tour of my school and I recognized him in the group. He kept an eye on me the entire time – until I was out of his sight. It got a little intense – weird.

Since I only see him when he's dumping the garbage, I've given him a nickname –

Trash Boy.


End file.
